"When?" Mother asks.

We're sitting on our cots in the dim basement, the single bulb flickering overhead. Between us lies the open metal tin—one thousand three hundred dollars, our ticket to freedom.

"When do you want to leave?" she presses. "I need to know so I can speak with Alpha Owen. Ask for his permission. Get whatever money he might give us."

I think about it. About walking away from Silver Wing Pack without looking back. About starting over in a human city where no one knows what I am.

Where no one will call me worthless.

But there's something I need to do first.

"Three days," I say. "After Lysander's welcome ceremony."

Mother's brow furrows. "Why wait? If we're leaving, we should go now. Before—"

"I want to see him." The words come out quieter than I intended. "Lysander. I want to thank him for what he did for me. Getting me into school. Protecting me when we were kids. Even if he thinks I'm a coward now, I want him to know I was grateful."

"Gaia—"

"I know it's stupid. I know he probably doesn't even remember those conversations we had." I swallow hard. "But they meant something to me. And I want to say goodbye properly. Just once."

Mother studies my face for a long moment.

Then she nods. "After the ceremony, then. We'll serve at his welcome feast—our final duty to this pack. Then we leave that very night."

"Thank you."

She closes the tin and tucks it back under her clothes. "I'll speak with Alpha Owen tomorrow. Explain that we want to leave peacefully. With his blessing."

I reach for her hand. "Three more days. We can survive three more days."

She squeezes back. "Yes. We can."

*****

The next morning, I'm at the lakeshore with the other Omega women.

We're washing clothes—delicate designer dresses belonging to the Beta and Gamma daughters. The kind that cost more than we'll earn in a year. The kind that require hand-washing in cold lake water because the machines are "too rough."

My hands are raw and red from the icy water. My knees ache from kneeling on the rocky shore. But I scrub in silence, keeping my head down.

'Three more days. Just three more days.'

That's when Luna Rena's nanny appears.

Grace. Fifty-something, with a pinched face and eyes like chips of ice.

"You." She points at me. "Gaia."

I set down the dress I'm washing and stand, dripping. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Luna Rena has a message for you." Her voice is sharp. Contemptuous. "Yesterday, Sienna reported an incident during cleaning. The Luna investigated and discovered you were on duty."

My stomach drops.

"You will be more careful in the future," Grace continues. "Any more complaints, and there will be consequences. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now get back to work."

She turns to leave, but I catch her muttering under her breath: "Don't know why these Omegas even exist. Stupid, lowly creatures. Should have gone extinct long ago."

The words hit like a slap.

I sink back down to my knees, plunging my hands into the frigid water.

'Stupid. Lowly. Should have gone extinct.'

Is that what I am? What we all are?

My whole life, I've been taught that being Omega means accepting humiliation. That our rank determines our worth. That we deserve this treatment because we're weak.

Mother told me this when I was young. "We survive by staying small, Gaia. By not making waves. By accepting our place."

But is it right?

We work hard. We don't hurt anyone. We serve the pack loyally, doing the jobs no one else wants.

So why do we deserve abuse? Why do we deserve to be treated like we're less than nothing?

I scrub at a silk dress, watching soap suds swirl in the clear water.

Leaving for the human world isn't what I want. Not really. We're werewolves. We belong in a pack, connected to our own kind, living as the Goddess intended.

But maybe there are other packs. Packs where Omegas aren't treated like garbage. Where strength isn't the only thing that matters.

I want to try. Want to see if life can be different.

Grace's figure disappears through the trees, her muttered insults still echoing in my mind.

'Stupid. Lowly. Should have gone extinct.'

I watch her go, and something twists in my chest.

Am I really that worthless?

Am I really that low?

I want to try to change it. Want to prove that Omegas can be more than servants and punching bags.

But I can't.

Because going to another pack is too dangerous. We'd be strangers. Outsiders. Possibly spies. They could kill us on sight.

And Mother has already sacrificed so much. Saved every penny for years. Risked punishment if she'd been caught hiding money.

I can't ask her to take more risks.

Can't put her in more danger than I already have.

So I'll go to the human city. Find work. Finish school.

And try not to think about what could have been.

I push the thoughts away and focus on the laundry.

Three more days.

I can survive three more days.

*****

I finish the washing as the sun climbs higher.

My hands are numb, my back aching. But every dress is spotless. Perfect work. Invisible work.

The work of an Omega.

I gather the clean clothes into my basket—heavy, waterlogged fabric—and start back toward the Alphahouse.

The path through the forest is familiar. I've walked it a thousand times. The trees provide shade, dappled sunlight filtering through leaves.

I'm halfway through when someone steps out from behind an oak tree.

Lucien.

My heart stops.

He's drunk. The loose way he moves, the unfocused look in his eyes, the reek of alcohol—all of it screams danger.

"Well, well," he slurs. "Look who I found."

I clutch the basket tighter. "Excuse me. I need to get back."

"What's the rush?" He moves closer, blocking the path. "We should talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I think there is." Another step. "You've been avoiding me."

I try to step around him. He moves with me, staying in my way.

"Please move. I have work to do."

"Work can wait."

He lunges.

The basket falls. Clean clothes spill onto dirt. I try to dodge, but he's faster—his hands catch my shoulders.

He slams me against a tree.

Pain explodes across my back. My spine hits bark, rough and unforgiving.

Lucien's face is inches from mine. His breath reeks of whiskey.

"Such a pretty Omega," he murmurs, his hand stroking my cheek. "I love how fragile you are."

I grit my teeth, glaring at him.

'I hate being fragile. I hate being weak. I hate that Omegas are built small, vulnerable, easy to overpower.'

If I were strong—if I had a warrior's body—I'd break his hand.

But I'm not strong.

"Don't touch me." I shove at his chest. It's like pushing a wall. "I told you I'm waiting for my mate. We're done."

"Done?" He laughs—ugly, dark. "We haven't even started."

His grip tightens. His face moves closer.

"Let me go—"

"It was you, wasn't it?" His eyes narrow. "Yesterday. Outside Sienna's room. I recognized that piece of shit mop."

My blood runs cold.

"So you heard everything." His smile is cruel. "Good. Saves me the trouble of pretending."

His hand moves to the hem of my skirt.

"Here's how this works," he says, voice dropping. "You let me fuck you. Right here. Right now. Or you don't make it back to the Alphahouse alive."

"Please—"

"I'm done being patient." His other hand moves to my throat—not choking, but threatening. "You should have said yes when I was still being nice."

Panic floods through me.

'He's really going to do this.'

I stop pulling away. Go still.

Lucien's grip loosens slightly. "That's better—"

I drive my knee up as hard as I can.

It connects.

He makes a strangled sound, his hands flying to clutch himself.

I don't wait.

I grab the basket and swing it at his head. It connects with a satisfying thunk. Clothes explode outward.

Lucien staggers, cursing.

I run.

The path slopes downward. My feet slip on dirt and pine needles. Behind me, I hear him recovering.

An idea hits.

I spin, using the slope for momentum, and hurl the basket.

It catches him in the chest. He's already off-balance. He goes down hard, the basket landing on his head, wet clothes covering his face.

"You can't escape tonight!" he roars, thrashing. "Tonight, you're MINE!"